Niamh reached down to touch the stones. She rubbed her hands over them gently before replying. ‘You used three powers. Didn’t you?’
Murdock looked taken aback. ‘You saw them?’
Niamh nodded.
‘What were they?’ said the flummoxed elf.
‘Earth, Air, and … Fire?’ she said, sounding a little confused by the last ingredient in the spell that had turned the bridge solid.
‘I’m impressed,’ said Murdock quietly.
‘Everything alright here?’ said the king, walking briskly along the path.
‘Young Grady found out the hard way that a castle’s defences can consist of thin air as well as stone,’ said Murdock.
‘Hah!’ laughed the king, completely unconcerned at the calamity that was just averted. ‘Any scratches?’ he said to Grady.
‘No. Nothing.’
‘Well done Murdock. Bubble spell or levitation charm?’ asked the king.
‘Neither. Niamh has speedy reflexes and a good aim. Her spell was cast before I had time to even draw my wand.’
‘You beat the elf?’ asked the king.
Niamh didn’t know what to say, so simply nodded.
‘Well done. Few witches can outdraw an elf.’ The king regarded her thoughtfully before waving his hand towards the castle. ‘Go on. Get yourselves in there. I’m sure you are keen to see your home for the next few weeks.’
The children didn’t need to be told twice. They all scampered across the bridge and under the dark arched entrance to the courtyard that lay beyond.
The king watched them go. ‘She outdrew you? Really?’ he said to Murdock.
‘I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s as if she saw the future. Her wand was out and the spell cast at a speed I’ve never seen.’
‘Never?’
‘Never.’
The king mulled over Murdock’s comments as the remainder of the entourage drew up behind them. ‘Well that’s good then,’ he said, seeming to arrive at a decision. ‘That’s good,’ he repeated as Merritt drew up alongside him. Father and son exchanged glances though Merritt could see the thoughtfulness behind his father’s eyes.
‘Something we should know about?’ he said.
The king laughed. ‘Any young prince interested in dating your daughter is going to have one hell of a time. If you thought her mother was a handful – well, let’s just say you haven’t seen anything yet.’
Merritt looked confused.
‘Come,’ said Murdock, putting an arm around Merritt’s shoulder. ‘Let me explain,’ he said, guiding his friend across the bridge.
The children stood in the middle of the courtyard staring at their new surrounds. The designers of this castle had not had beauty in mind when crafting its rugged features. Steep stone stairs ran from the edge of the courtyard up to battlements with thin slits that let little light filter beyond them. Colonnaded walkways were protected by deep overhangs. Anything or anybody that breached the battlements would be hard-pressed to reach anything or anybody hidden under the eaves without making themselves an easy target.
‘It’s a bit bleak,’ said Grady, looking unimpressed.
‘You’ve been spoiled,’ said a voice from above. Quinn floated gently down on a broomstick. He had obviously thought better of taking the steps across the phantom bridge. ‘Not every castle is as beautiful as the Lair. This one was built for defence. Did you see the slits in the walls?’
Grady nodded.
‘They were for targeteers to fire through when the castle was attacked.’
‘I thought targeteers were just something we did for sport?’ said Niamh.
‘It’s an ancient sport, Niamh,’ Murdock said quietly. It still made her jump that the elf could creep up on them without making a sound. ‘The original targeteers were defenders of the castle. Once the wars ended, the skills remained. In case they were needed again.’
Niamh nodded. ‘Grady is right though. It’s all a bit grim.’ As if to emphasise her point a cold wind gusted over the battlements and whipped around her clothes.
The courtyard started to fill up as everyone made their way across the bridge. Servants appeared from doors which opened to spill bright light into the gloom under the eaves.
‘Do you have to burn lights here all day long?’ said Grady, pointing at a large doorway in the colonnades. The hall beyond looked unnaturally bright.
‘Come see,’ said Grace, wandering up to the group. ‘You may be surprised,’ she said, smiling.
The group followed Grace and Merritt, but something looked out of place as they approached the doorway. The room seemed to be flooded with daylight despite the grim exterior walls and tiny windows. They walked under the finely carved keystone over the door and stared in wonder at the room beyond. The glow emanated from the stones of the castle. Where there should have been slits for the targeteers to rain spells down on their enemies below, instead there were large windows which allowed the daylight to pour into the castle. The room stretched out in a great curve to their left and right following the shape of the cliff upon which the castle was set. Along the back wall hung tapestry after tapestry, beautifully woven and highly decorated. The faces of young men and women in their prime stared back at them from the cloth. Some held wands, some held broomsticks. All looked ready to fight.
‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ said Merritt.
Niamh and Grady nodded. The high vaulted rooms at the Dragon’s Lair seemed to stretch away forever, but this room and its smooth stone ceilings crossed with stout wooden beams was impressive in its own magnificent way.
‘How does it work?’ Niamh eventually asked. ‘The outside of the castle is dark stone. There isn’t a white block in sight but this place is glowing!’
‘It’s old magic, Niamh,’ said Merritt. ‘The castle on the inside is different to the castle on the outside. One of them is inside the other. No one knows how to create that type of sorcerer’s magic now. The secret is lost.’
‘I know,’ a voice whispered inside Niamh’s head.
‘Shut up,’ said Niamh tersely.
‘I beg your pardon!’ said her father.
‘Sorry Dad. I was … I was …’ said Niamh, flustered.
‘She was getting in a pre-emptive shut up,’ said Grady. ‘She knew I was about to say something stupid.’
‘Oh really?’ said Merritt levelly.
‘Yes. Yes, that was it exactly,’ said Niamh, with a hint of relief.
‘Well next time you feel like being pre-emptive take a moment and think about it before being rude to your brother.’
‘Sorry Dad,’ said Niamh, with as much meekness as she could muster.
Grady deftly changed the subject. ‘Who are they?’ he said, pointing to the twelve tapestries that lined the hall.
‘Heroes of times past,’ said Murdock. ‘They were all lost in a single battle, centuries past. The tapestries are ancient.’
‘What battle?’ asked Grady.
‘This lake used to be called Lir’s Lake. Lir was one of our ancient kings, but he grew proud of his powers and failed to defend his lands well. This lake was lost to him when the wizards and witches allied to the Morrigan defeated his forces. Those twelve you see in the tapestry were his children – the Children of Lir. They were all powerful wizards. Some say they were sorcerers. But the Morrigan had powerful dark mages at her disposal. The clan was overwhelmed in a single battle and the Morrigan cast an awful spell that turned them into gryphons. The legends say the spell would be released after they spent three hundred years on the banks of this lake, three hundred years on the banks of the Great Blue Lake in the northern kingdom, and three hundred years in the icy kingdom of the south.’
‘But that means they should have returned by now,’ said Grady, calculating years in his head.
‘That’s right,’ said Merritt. ‘But they vanished after their time in the ice lands had ended. And no one has seen them since.’
‘And no one knows how to find them? Or lift the
curse?’ said Niamh.
Murdock shook his head. ‘No. There must be a counter-spell to the curse the Morrigan cast. But if there is it has been lost in time. Some think the only person who knew the secret of the spell was Lir’s wife. She created every single one of these tapestries. From the moment her husband was defeated she lost the power of speech and spent the rest of her days creating these tapestries. Some say it drove her mad. Her last act was to finish the final portrait on the end. The task had taken her most of her life and she was by now an old woman. But as she tied the final stitch and the needle dropped from her hands, her voice returned. Her final words were “I am finished. The Twins will know what must be done” and then she died.’
Niamh felt butterflies in her stomach at the mention of Twins. ‘What did she mean? The Twins will know what must be done?’
‘Scholars think the Morrigan cast a spell on Lir’s wife that forced her to create the tapestries. They also think that knowledge of the counter-spell would have been given to her – it was the sort of thing that twisted witch would do. But no one alive today really knows.’
‘I know,’ said a voice inside Grady’s head.
‘Shut up!’ he said, clamping his hands over his ears.
‘I beg your pardon!’ said Merritt. ‘First your sister and now you! What has gotten into you two today?’
Grady looked sheepish. ‘Sorry. Getting pre-emptive again.’ He glanced at his sister, who knew exactly what had happened.
‘The only thing we do know is the Children should have reappeared by now,’ said Merritt. ‘A little over nine hundred years has passed since the battle but there is no sign of them. Even if we knew the spell to release them, we don’t have anyone to cast it on.’
Grace interrupted the solemn moment. ‘I think we should all go and freshen up before dinner,’ she said curtly. ‘Murdock. Would you arrange for the children to be shown to their rooms?’
‘Of course,’ said the elf, bowing. ‘Come,’ he said imperiously. ‘Your rooms are this way.’
Niamh and Grady stared at the tapestries, the faces woven within the fabric seeming impossibly real, with eyes that appeared to follow them as they left the room. The doors closed with a thud but as the sound died away the tapestries shimmered, as if excited by some errant but non-existent breeze, before settling quietly to maintain their still and silent watch over the hall.
Chapter 7
A Face in the Crowd
The mid-morning sun promised a blistering afternoon as the children arranged themselves for a procession through town.
‘Remind me again why are we doing this?’ asked Grady, looking uncomfortable in the traditional robes in which he and Niamh had been arrayed.
‘You know why,’ said his mother as the castle faeries fussed around his head, tidying the ginger crop of hair and rearranging his clothes.
‘Honestly Mum. I look like a prat,’ he said, batting away a faerie that had strayed too close to his eyebrows. The tiny creature stared malevolently at Grady, who took a step back. One thing he had learned in Avalon is that small doesn’t necessarily mean defenceless, and the faeries seemed to have a never ending supply of attitude.
‘For once, Grady, you’ve described yourself perfectly,’ said Niamh, standing patiently while the faeries arranged robes that hung from her shoulders over a deep plum-coloured gown. The robe and gown were elf-made, and of the lightest material Niamh had ever worn.
‘Well, these boots are ridiculous,’ said Grady, scuffing at the floor. ‘And NOBODY wears cloaks anymore, for heaven’s sake.’
‘You don’t get to be a member of the royal family without having to attend to some duties, Grady,’ said his father, wandering across to a window overlooking the lake. He, like the rest of the family, was wearing clothes which seemed several hundred years out of date but somehow made him slightly less earthly and a little more ethereal. ‘Besides, you only have to wear these for a short while and then it’s all over. The procession through town marks the start of the Festival of the Lake, and it’s an important event – not just round here but for the kingdom. The festival marks the end of the Troll Wars and the start of a peace which has been unbroken for centuries, so take it seriously, please.’
‘Alright,’ said Grady, a little petulantly.
‘Everyone ready?’ said Murdock, sticking his head around the door frame.
‘Good to go,’ said Grace, adjusting Grady’s robes one last time.
‘Excellent. Broomsticks are ready and waiting.’
The courtyard turned out to be chaos. Servants and guards bustled past each other with stern looks, though not one angry word appeared to be passed between them. The broomsticks of the family were arrayed on a rack and shone in the morning light. A number of palace guards in black uniforms swung onto their broomsticks and rose slowly into the air as the children, parents and grandparents all reached for their mounts. The guards took up places high above the courtyard and waited for the family to follow.
‘Where’s everyone else?’ asked Niamh.
‘All your friends will be down at the lakefront where the parade will finish. They left earlier because some people are able to organise themselves faster,’ Grace said pointedly.
‘Well I bet they didn’t have to wear these stupid robes,’ said Grady, yanking at his cloak as it caught around the seat on his broomstick.
‘Moan, moan,’ said Merritt. ‘Honestly, I thought you would be excited at being part of a procession like this. Do you remember what you have to do?’
‘Yes, Dad,’ the children chorused.
‘Let’s hear it then.’
‘Fly sedately to the top of the hill by the broomstick service station and dismount,’ they said, parroting instructions which had obviously been drilled into them. ‘Then walk behind the king and queen but in front of you two. And we have to be polite and shake hands and say hello to people in the crowd.’
‘Very good,’ said Grace. ‘And what else, Grady?’
‘No frowning at people or telling fart jokes.’
‘Exactly right,’ said Merritt, smiling.
‘And you Niamh?’ said Grace.
‘No selfies with the crowd.’
‘Well done,’ said Grace, smiling at Niamh’s eye-rolling.
‘If you’re ready, we should go,’ said Murdock, looking impatient.
Niamh and Grady slung their legs over their broomsticks and kicked off, the ground rapidly falling away behind them. Their parents followed behind with the king and queen making their exit from the courtyard in a much more sedate manner.
‘Stay together,’ said Merritt, pulling alongside Niamh and Grady. Beside them, like a black swarm, the castle guards drifted closer and were joined by a further phalanx of guards on dragons from the forest behind the castle. Together, the small squadron turned towards the town. As they slowly approached the shoreline the children could see buntings, flags, tents on the common grounds, and all manner of fairground activity in the township. The sound of celebrations drifted across the lake towards them.
A shape caught Niamh’s eye as they flew on. A figure stood on a rocky promontory away to her right. It watched them as they flew and raised one hand. Niamh was unsure if it was in greeting or as a warning. The figure wore ragged clothes and carried a staff in one hand. A beard sprouted from his face and an enormous hound sat beside him. Even seated, the dog’s head was up to the waist of the watcher. Its black coat made the white of its large teeth stand out in sharp contrast. Niamh felt eyes trying to burrow into her mind. She shivered as they flew on. ‘Who is that?’ she said, turning to her father.
‘Where?’ said Merritt, looking around to where Niamh pointed.
‘There,’ she said, glancing back at where she had seen the figure. The promontory was devoid of either man or dog. Both had vanished.
‘There was a man on that rock,’ she said emphatically.
‘Well, whoever it was they are gone now,’ said her father.
‘Did you see him?’ she said,
turning to her brother.
Grady shook his head.
‘Well, he was definitely there. And he was creepy.’
‘Are you sure you aren’t seeing things, Niamh?’ said Grady.
Niamh looked back over her shoulder. She was certain of what she had seen. But to escape from the rocky outcrop would have meant clambering up a slope on which it would have been impossible to hide. She shook her head as she flew on.
The children followed closely behind their mother and father as they headed along the shoreline. There was a roar from the crowd as they flew closely over the heads of the huge gathering. In moments they found themselves dismounting in a clear roped-off space at the top of a short hill which led down into town.
‘Now stay close and do as we do,’ said Grace, ushering the children into position.
‘Are you ready?’ the king seemed to say to the clear air above him. The children exchanged glances wondering if their grandfather was starting to lose his marbles.
‘Of course,’ came the clear crystal sound of Brighid. With a flash of light the phoenix blossomed into view. Her wings coruscated from tip to fiery tip, with tendrils of flame weaving up and down her body and bursting from the end of her tail feathers.
‘It’s rare that a Royal Phoenix marks the start of the procession,’ said Grace. ‘But as she is here it seemed the right thing to do. Now, off we go!’
The king and queen began to head down the hill flanked by a guard of honour. The children walked closely behind with their mother and father bringing up the rear of the group. A relatively narrow corridor was left in the main street for the royal group to walk through. The king and queen had started the procession in a stately manner but relaxed into their roles moving to either side of the route, shaking hands with well-wishers and chatting to those they obviously knew.
‘Relax,’ said Merritt quietly to Grady who clearly was nervous facing the throng of faces. ‘Shake hands, nod, say hello, and move on to the next person. Watch your grandparents. They know exactly what to do.’
Grady looked at the king and queen and how naturally they were handling the situation. He took a deep breath and stepped closer to the crowd. There were all manner of people and species in the press. Humans, goblins (looking gloomy and not generally clapping but standing with sullen faces), dwarfs (projecting as much attitude as you can when you are only four foot high with a steel helmet covering most of your head), and stately elves smiling that serene smile which never really gave anything away. Grady started to shake hands and mutter as many “Hi there”s and “Hello”s as he could.
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